Broussard sighed slowly and motioned him to sit. He took his vitals again then looked at his throat. “Remarkable.”
“What’s that?”
“No sign of it. No redness at all. No drainage…”
“I told ya. I feel fine.” He sat back on the mattress and eyed the older man. “But the captain isn’t going to allow me to leave yet, will he?”
Broussard shrugged. “I’ll send word through the yeoman.” He stood and tucked his book under his arm. “In fact, I’ll go now and let him know.”
Broussard went immediately to the lab and caught Carol in the middle of loading the next batch into the incubator. “He’s recovered completely.”
She turned and gave him a surprised look. “Are you certain?”
Broussard stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Who could be, under these circumstances? But…by all accounts, his symptoms are gone.”
“He’s asymptomatic?” She set the tray down carefully and gave him a subdued smile. “Have we truly done it?”
Broussard shrugged again. “One can only hope.”
She nodded enthusiastically then nodded toward the door of the incubator. “Hold that, please.” She slid the tray inside then sealed the door. “We need to let the captain know that we’re ready. If we can get the other ships that have labs to get started on making more of the strep, we can be ready for field trials much sooner.”
“Agreed.” Broussard pushed open the door and stepped into the hallway. “Don’t forget that Dr. McAlester is waiting for word from the captain to be released.” He gave her a knowing look.
She nodded gently. “I’ll let him know shortly.”
Broussard marched toward the yeoman’s office while Carol finished transferring the trays. She paused for a moment and squeezed her eyes shut. “We did it, Vivian. God help us, we did it.”
Simon stared at the old semi, its trailer sitting at an angle. “I don’t know if there’s enough fuel in that tanker to do what needs doing.”
Shooter poked his head up from under the hood of the old Kenworth. “I know we’ll at least need batteries. Beyond that…it’s anybody’s guess.”
Sinner leaned against the hybrid car and watched the pair climb over the dead tractor. “We don’t have to use gas, ya know.”
Simon’s head popped up. “What do ya mean?”
Sinner pushed off the small car and walked forward, his shoulder throbbing as he stepped. “Before 9/11, what was the worst terrorist act on US soil?”
Simon gave him a confused look. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Sinner slapped the side of the tanker. “Remember the Oklahoma City bombing? Some asshole makes a bomb using fertilizer and some diesel. Packs it into a U-Haul and blows up half the federal building.”
Simon’s eyes widened with excitement. “Hell yeah.” He nodded to Shooter. “Help me find a U-Haul.”
Sinner reached out and took him by the shoulder. “You want something bigger than a U-Haul.” He glanced over Simon’s shoulder at the semi. “If we could find a box trailer…”
Simon’s smile widened. “Now you’re talking.” He snapped his fingers.
Shooter brushed his hands off on his pants. “Wait. You can still stop a semi…any semi.” He shook his head as he stepped closer. “They could shoot out the tires, blow a hole in the radiator…”
“So, what? Another damned dozer?” Simon shook his head at the smaller man. “I’d rather take my chances with the old Kenworth.”
Shooter glanced down the street then back to the pair. “I don’t reckon any of you have seen a Greyhound bus around, have you?”
Simon gave him a curious stare. “Planning on taking a vacation?”
Shooter shook his head. “No, look…buses have their engines in the back. The radiators aren’t in front. Even if they shot it with a fifty cal, they ain’t gonna stop a bus.” He gave the pair a crooked smile. “Those damned Greyhounds? I’ve seen one blow a tire and it drove on for another three-quarter mile before the driver ever even pulled over.”
Simon raised a brow and glanced to Sinner. “You seen any buses?”
Sinner shook his head then gave the pair a knowing smile. “But I know where we can get something that’s damn near the same thing.”
“Do tell.”
Sinner broke into a toothy grin. “And it will smell a lot nicer too.”
“Don’t hold back ya big bastard. Tell me.”
Sinner pointed down the street. “Aloha. They got all kinds of buses that are converted to RV’s.”
Simon gave him a confused look. “A what?”
“They’re like band buses. You know, for when the Stones go on tour? They convert a bus into a rolling house then sell them for a half million bucks to rock stars and lawyers and politicians and shit.”
Simon glanced to Shooter who shrugged. “They’re the same thing basically. Should work the same.”
“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go get us one of them Stones’ buses and fill it with fertilizer.” He practically pushed the men back toward the car. “Onward, James.”
“So, I’m Hank.” Trevor continued to stare out the window, Patricia tucked under his arm. Hank squirmed. “What’s your name?”
Trevor nodded toward the street. “Drive.”
“I am driving.” Hank gave him a grin. “Look, man, I told you I was sorry for causing you to go off the road. If we can’t find you another ride, maybe we can scavenge the parts to fix your rig.”
Trevor blew his breath out hard and shook his head. “Look, I ain’t interested in making friends.” He glanced down at Patricia’s bald head under her hood. “A couple of nights ago, yeah. I would have just about killed to find you people again.” He pulled her closer. “We were about done in.”
“What happened?”
Trevor’s eyes were filled with anger. “We found food. Now just drive the damned truck.”
Hank nodded slowly and turned his eyes back to the road. “You know, there’s plenty of room where we are.”
“Not for us,” Trevor deadpanned.
Hank glanced in the rear view mirror again. “I don’t know why you’d say that. We got other kids there.
